It's unnerving, and I'm instantly on high alert. There's a gas leak in my muscles, tension slowly filling them with poison. My stomach churns as footsteps start on the steps, traveling closer and closer.
“Sawyer?” Kevin calls. In a span of seconds, I dissect each syllable and inflection in his tone, searching for a hint of what mood he's in.
“In here,” I call, attempting to sound pleasant.
It's summer break from my college classes, and the only thing keeping me away from home—from him—is my job at the library.
But of course, today is my day off, and I’m now considering calling Mrs. Julie and asking to pick up a shift.
I’m sitting on my bed, sifting through a thriller novel. I don't even know what it's about anymore; I lost track fifty pages ago and I’m on page fifty-four.
Kev creaks open the door, walking in without waiting for permission. Not that he’s ever asked.
He’s still in uniform, sans the belt with his gun and Taser. The sight sickens me. He parades as a savior—a protector—but the only thing that uniform represents is my inability to stop him from hurting me.
The energy in the room instantly shifts, plummeting quicker than when a roller coaster crests the top of the hill.
Adrenaline is let off in my bloodstream like a bomb. Sweat forms along my hairline, and my body begins to tremble.
“What are you reading?” he questions, snatching the book from my hands before I can answer. For once, I'm glad for his disrespect because I don't think I could've given him an answer.
He glances at me and tosses the book on the bed, and I watch it fall shut.
Page fifty-four. Don't forget.
“You've been reading all day? Couldn't even clean up the house?” he asks, though it sounds more like an interrogation.
“I did clean,” I defend lightly, latching my fingers together to hide my tremors.
“And dinner? Looks to me like you're just sitting on your ass all day while I support us.”
“I have my own money, Kev,” I grumble. Not much of it, but I do everything I can to pay my own way. Even when I have school, I work part-time to help with bills.
Funny enough, our parents’ life insurance was more than enough to pay off the house and car, yet Kev acts like he’s scraping pennies to get by. Shouldn't be when he stole my half of the money.
I think he just blows it all on strippers when he's not tormenting me.
“That money should be mine as long as you're living in my house.”
“Our house,” I correct, keeping my eyes downcast, my heart rate increasing. “We’re twins. And I'm three minutes older anyway.”
I spare him a glance, noting the fury that flashes across his eyes—a rage so deep, it’s something he could only be born with. I was being crafted in my mother's stomach alongside a monster. It’s in his very DNA. Sometimes, it scares me that it’s in mine, too.
My brother nods more to himself, as if agreeing with his inner demon on something. Can only imagine what about. And that's the saddest part—I can imagine. I've lived every scenario.
“You wear that just for me, pipsqueak?” he questions, pointing to my body. I don't know why I look at what I'm wearing as if I don't already know.
A black baggy t-shirt, loose jeans, and my Maruchan ramen socks.
I spent forty-five minutes carefully choosing these clothes. Just as I do every day. Anything that could be considered suggestive results in unwanted touches, but most times, just existing has the same outcome.
I grab for my book, avoiding eye contact. “I didn't wear them for anyone.”
“That's because there's no one else to give you attention, is there?”
Thanks to you.
“That's what you want?” he continues. “Attention?”
“No—”
Kev crawls onto the bed, effectively freezing the words in my throat. My body is as unbendable as a diamond as he crowds over me, a sinister smile on his face.
Disgust and nausea rise in my throat, and a coldness spreads throughout every inch of my being.
He can't do this to me again. He's already invaded my body so profoundly, I have nothing left to give. What else could he possibly want?
A hand brushes across my cheek, but my soul has been transported outside my body. I'm watching from above as he forces me back on the bed.
But I don't bend. I can only stare back with icy rage.
“Lay back, Sawyer. You know fighting doesn't work,” he growls.
Tears flood my eyes, and I wonder how he can look in them and not see himself. How can he not when we're both so dead inside?